After the incident last night, Jeff Jarrett had decided that it would be in his best interest to stay as far away as possible from the casino, and preferably in a place that had a lot of people. The first place that had come to his mind earlier was the kitchen. He didn’t particularly like cooking, but the hotel was big, and there were a lot of chefs, so he’d be able to blend in easily. It was perfect!
So that was where he found himself; volunteering in the kitchen. So far today, he had basted turkey, chopped up vegetables for a salad, attempted to follow ‘Aine’s recipe for pie, and now, baking soufflés. Jeff didn’t consider himself the best cook, but what he had done today tasted surprisingly good. Thankfully, though, he didn’t have to see other peoples’ reactions to the food. That was the waiter’s job.
In fact, from what Jeff had noticed, he was working harder than most of the paid chefs. It was time for a break. He set the bowls of cream and egg whites aside and headed off to a corner in the back next to the dishwashers, bringing a glass of water along with him. An empty chair sat back here, and it looked very…inviting. Jeff nearly collapsed into it, sipping the water and playing with the ice cubes.
“I might be wrong, but I’ve overworked myself,” Jeff observed. He was sweating; it was hot in here, and stuffy due to the amount of people crammed inside. The noises of clattering plates and running water coming from different areas of the kitchen began to blur together, until Jeff slowly fell into a deep sleep.
Jeff woke up some time later, not aware of who he was, where he was, or what he had been doing before he fell asleep. No one else was around, and it was dark. It looked like he was in a kitchen of some kind…but why would that be? He was a terrible cook, and besides, he preferred to sleep in places besides kitchens.
Wait. Someone was standing in front of him, although it was took dark to tell who it was. “Umm…where am I?” he asked.
The figure responded by chuckling and saying, “Your soufflé fell.”
At that moment, Jeff’s memory came rushing back, and he mumbled, “Damnit!” to himself. “I’ve got to go fix it, and—“ Jeff’s sentence was cut off by the figure firing a bullet through his chest.
It quickly became apparent to the Sniper that his victim’s food tasted terrible.
---
It was time to back her bags and get away from the hotel, ‘Nymphie had decided. She had one problem, though, and that was packing her bags. Not knowing how long the trip would be, she had packed several weeks’ worth of supplies, and had promptly spread them out across her hotel room when she had checked in. People had visited, parties had taken place, and now, in order to find the TV or the beds, she had to dig through layers of assorted things.
It had taken her most of the afternoon to get this far, but she was down to about a third of the unsorted clutter. She threw a few towels into one corner of the bed, several volumes of book series in another, and a bag full of clothing…somewhere in a suitcase. It would all work out soon. For now, she needed some ice to refill the ice bucket with. Her drinks were serious business.
The door closed and locked behind her, and thankfully, `Nymphie didn’t forget her room key this time. She quickly headed down the hallway, bucket in hand, and filled it with ice, then returned. There was a reason why she wanted to get out of the hotel, and she had no intention of stalling. Nearly tripping over a rug, she unlocked her door again and entered, only to find someone standing on her bed.
`Nymphie grinned. “Thanks for coming. Since you’re somehow in here, you can help me pack.”
They responded, rather matter-of-factly, “No thanks.” The Crazed Killer then grabbed a clock, shaped to resemble The Thinker and that said the time when a button was pressed, out of the ‘personal mementos’ pile and leapt at ‘Nymphie, knocking her to the ground and beating her skull in with it.
"I think it's THREE-FOURTY-FIVE P.M."
Sadly, ‘Nymphie was alive right up until she heard the crack. The blood from the wound made a mess of her towels. Oh well.
---
A moo came from underneath the ballroom door, and a napkin was slid under, with the word “SIN” scrawled on it. “Thanks, Steven,” KingShoy said almost sarcastically, and then ran back down to the lobby to the voting area, which became oddly silent as he arrived.
Shoy was confused. “The jail has voted A Dragonflys Sin. What about you guys?” he asked. In response, 4lys held up a napkin with “SHOY” written on it in neat handwriting.
“…Oh.”
Shoy and Sin were carried upstairs to the ballroom, where they were thrown in, landing on top of Steven and unintentionally tipping him.
Lyzz yelled, “WAIT, STAY THERE. DON’T LET HIM MOVE.”
---
So that was where he found himself; volunteering in the kitchen. So far today, he had basted turkey, chopped up vegetables for a salad, attempted to follow ‘Aine’s recipe for pie, and now, baking soufflés. Jeff didn’t consider himself the best cook, but what he had done today tasted surprisingly good. Thankfully, though, he didn’t have to see other peoples’ reactions to the food. That was the waiter’s job.
In fact, from what Jeff had noticed, he was working harder than most of the paid chefs. It was time for a break. He set the bowls of cream and egg whites aside and headed off to a corner in the back next to the dishwashers, bringing a glass of water along with him. An empty chair sat back here, and it looked very…inviting. Jeff nearly collapsed into it, sipping the water and playing with the ice cubes.
“I might be wrong, but I’ve overworked myself,” Jeff observed. He was sweating; it was hot in here, and stuffy due to the amount of people crammed inside. The noises of clattering plates and running water coming from different areas of the kitchen began to blur together, until Jeff slowly fell into a deep sleep.
Jeff woke up some time later, not aware of who he was, where he was, or what he had been doing before he fell asleep. No one else was around, and it was dark. It looked like he was in a kitchen of some kind…but why would that be? He was a terrible cook, and besides, he preferred to sleep in places besides kitchens.
Wait. Someone was standing in front of him, although it was took dark to tell who it was. “Umm…where am I?” he asked.
The figure responded by chuckling and saying, “Your soufflé fell.”
At that moment, Jeff’s memory came rushing back, and he mumbled, “Damnit!” to himself. “I’ve got to go fix it, and—“ Jeff’s sentence was cut off by the figure firing a bullet through his chest.
It quickly became apparent to the Sniper that his victim’s food tasted terrible.
---
It was time to back her bags and get away from the hotel, ‘Nymphie had decided. She had one problem, though, and that was packing her bags. Not knowing how long the trip would be, she had packed several weeks’ worth of supplies, and had promptly spread them out across her hotel room when she had checked in. People had visited, parties had taken place, and now, in order to find the TV or the beds, she had to dig through layers of assorted things.
It had taken her most of the afternoon to get this far, but she was down to about a third of the unsorted clutter. She threw a few towels into one corner of the bed, several volumes of book series in another, and a bag full of clothing…somewhere in a suitcase. It would all work out soon. For now, she needed some ice to refill the ice bucket with. Her drinks were serious business.
The door closed and locked behind her, and thankfully, `Nymphie didn’t forget her room key this time. She quickly headed down the hallway, bucket in hand, and filled it with ice, then returned. There was a reason why she wanted to get out of the hotel, and she had no intention of stalling. Nearly tripping over a rug, she unlocked her door again and entered, only to find someone standing on her bed.
`Nymphie grinned. “Thanks for coming. Since you’re somehow in here, you can help me pack.”
They responded, rather matter-of-factly, “No thanks.” The Crazed Killer then grabbed a clock, shaped to resemble The Thinker and that said the time when a button was pressed, out of the ‘personal mementos’ pile and leapt at ‘Nymphie, knocking her to the ground and beating her skull in with it.
"I think it's THREE-FOURTY-FIVE P.M."
Sadly, ‘Nymphie was alive right up until she heard the crack. The blood from the wound made a mess of her towels. Oh well.
---
A moo came from underneath the ballroom door, and a napkin was slid under, with the word “SIN” scrawled on it. “Thanks, Steven,” KingShoy said almost sarcastically, and then ran back down to the lobby to the voting area, which became oddly silent as he arrived.
Shoy was confused. “The jail has voted A Dragonflys Sin. What about you guys?” he asked. In response, 4lys held up a napkin with “SHOY” written on it in neat handwriting.
“…Oh.”
Shoy and Sin were carried upstairs to the ballroom, where they were thrown in, landing on top of Steven and unintentionally tipping him.
Lyzz yelled, “WAIT, STAY THERE. DON’T LET HIM MOVE.”
---
Jeff Jarrett has been sniped.
`Nymphie has been killed.
KingShoy and A Dragonflys Sin have been jailed.
Please vote now, using proper format.
Those with roles, please PM me your information.
